


Radience

by anamia



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:01:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamia/pseuds/anamia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras' hair glows. His two best friends react in their own ways to this phenomenon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Combeferre

**Author's Note:**

> This was also inspired by a piece of Hammy's, and also by the discussion that followed. The picture and comments are [here.](http://citoyennecombeferre.tumblr.com/post/53676241745/combeferrescannon-citoyennecombeferre)

Enjolras slept with a small smile on his face, limbs sprawled out and hair tumbling down around his face and shoulders. The glow that surrounded him during his waking hours had dimmed, leaving him more man than marble though in truth he was always both. He slept with the stillness of one who has learned to share a bed — Courfeyrac in particular disliked sleeping alone and regularly invaded Enjolras’ bed when he could not find bedmates of the female persuasion.

Combeferre, who had come over to finish a discussion about the right to property versus the right to happiness and never quite got around to leaving, sat in a chair next to the bed with a book in his lap. On the night table the candle stub he used was flickering dangerously, nearly at the end of its life. He bent closer, peering at the small print in an effort to get as much read as possible before losing his light source. He had promised Prouvaire he would return the text the next day and, though his friend would be more than willing to let him keep it a few more days, Combeferre was a man of his word. He turned the page.

The movement created a slight breeze and the candleflame flickered wildly before going out entirely. The room was plunged into sudden darkness and Combeferre blinked rapidly as his eyes struggled to adjust to the abrupt change. There was little point in relighting the candle, burnt down as it was, and Enjolras kept his spare ones in the other room. He uncrossed his legs and stretched his neck, weighing the respective merits of digging up a new candle versus calling it a night and returning Prouvaire’s book later than promised. He was not particularly weary, truth to be told, and he doubted he would find much restful sleep before having finished his reading.

Enjolras shifted in his sleep and the sound gave Combeferre an idea. He reached out, eyes adjusted enough to the dark to make out Enjolras’ sleeping form, and laid a gentle hand on his friend’s head. Carefully, so as not to wake Enjolras, Combeferre stroked his hair, smooth strands silky against his skin. Slowly, a dim light began to emanate from Enjolras’ locks, an imitation of his usual glow that grew brighter under Combeferre’s ministrations. Within a few minutes Combeferre had ample light to read by once more, a steady illumination that was far kinder on his eyes than the candle flame had been. Enjolras’ smile grew though he did not wake, and Combeferre felt himself smile in return. Keeping one hand on Enjolras’ hair as both a sign of affection and a means to keep his light steady, he returned to his reading.


	2. Courfeyrac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courf's reaction was written upon request.

Courfeyrac let himself into Enjolras’ rooms at around two in the morning, letting the door close silently behind him. The main room was dark but a faint glimmer of light peeked out from beneath the bedroom door, sure sign that at least one of his friends was still up. He had no doubt that they were both here; their discussion that evening had shown all the signs of taking hours to resolve and all three of them had long since lost their shyness about spending nights together instead of making the trek across the city unnecessarily. No murmur of voices could be heard, so Courfeyrac deduced that one of the two, probably Combeferre, had succumbed to sleep while the other worked. This was hardly unusual behavior for them and Courfeyrac rolled his eyes fondly as he removed his hat and coat. He loved his friends, truly he did, but their idea of an engrossing night’s entertainment was sorely lacking.

He hung up his outerwear without difficulty, having long since learned to navigate these rooms in the dark. He had a good memory, even while far drunker than he was now, and Enjolras never redecorated. His shoes joined the others by the door and he padded towards the bedroom, feet making no noise as he moved. Even right in front of the door he heard no sound, and briefly he entertained the notion that Enjolras had fallen asleep at his desk again and neglected to blow out the candle. He pushed open the door carefully and slipped inside, blinking slightly as his eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light. A moment later he recognized that he had been only partially correct: it was Combeferre rather than Enjolras who had been working, but he had indeed fallen asleep sitting up, book propped on his knees. Combeferre had a talent for sleeping without moving at all, one he had sheepishly admitted had been honed through a lifetime of doing precisely this. Only Combeferre would worry about the state of his books even while he slept.

It took him a moment to realize that the light filling the room did not come from a candle after all. Combeferre’s free hand rested tenderly on Enjolras’ head, something the self-contained scholar would only do in the privacy of these rooms. Ordinarily such open displays of affection from his friend would make Courfeyrac grin in delight, but now his attention was caught by something else. The steady light seemed to be coming from Enjolras himself or, more accurately, from his hair. Courfeyrac frowned and blinked rapidly. He was a little drunk, but not excessively so and even at his most inebriated he had never been one to hallucinate so. Just to make sure he scanned the room for a lit candle but he found none, and the light was far too bright and even to come from a single candle anyway. Intrigued and half convinced he was dreaming, Courfeyrac moved further into the room.

As he approached Enjolras’ sleeping form it became impossible to deny the source of the light. Enjolras’ hair glowed steadily, lighting up the area around him with a golden radiance that brought out the softness in his face. Courfeyrac rocked back on his heels, looking from Enjolras’ locks to his face and then back again. Was Enjolras aware of this ability? Certainly the blond had seemed to glow before, particularly while making speeches or throwing himself into impassioned debates, but Courfeyrac had always assumed that it was merely a trick of the light, a combination of charisma and good looks that bewitched those who saw. He had assumed too that Enjolras was not entirely aware of the effect. Now, presented with evidence that seemed to directly contradict his earlier theory, Courfeyrac had to wonder if perhaps Enjolras knew rather more than Courfeyrac had thought.

Enjolras shifted in his sleep, turning his head away and making Combeferre’s hand slip off his hair and onto the bedclothes. Almost instantly the light dimmed, though it did not go out completely. Courfeyrac moved closer, mind whirling. Without hesitation he reached out and put his own hand on Enjolras’ head, hoping he didn’t wake his friend. At the touch the light stopped fading and Courfeyrac felt a grin stretch across his face as a theory started forming in his head. He carefully entangled his fingers further into Enjolras’ hair and, sure enough, the glow returned almost to its former intensity. Why precisely a touch could produce this effect Courfeyrac had no idea, and at the moment he did not care. Instead, just to be certain, he removed his hand and watched as the light dimmed once more.

He knelt down so as to be more comfortable and once more touched Enjolras’ hair, both to revel in the immediate reaction and to have light with which to consider his next actions. Combeferre, it appeared, had no qualms using their friend’s odd talent as a substitute for a reading lamp. It was practical certainly, but woefully unimaginative. Enjolras, at least, used this to draw attention to himself, which both required more delicacy and implied a certain degree of control. And, while Courfeyrac would never dream of using his friend or his unique ability, he could certainly imagine the multitude of uses to which _he_ would put them. Having a light that appeared on command would be invaluable in so many situations, after all, including some Enjolras himself would approve of.

Courfeyrac realized that he had been absently running his hand through Enjolras’ hair as he thought and that, as a result, the light had grown in brightness until it nearly rivaled daylight, though only for a limited area. He paused and the brightness stopped increasing, though it did not dim. Already guessing what would happen, Courfeyrac removed his hand entirely and, once again, watched as Enjolras’ hair darkened. When Courfeyrac put his hand back the diming stopped.

Curious, he reached out with his free hand and carefully separated out a small section of hair, gathering it together and holding it securely. The light brightened once again even as he removed his hand from the rest of Enjolras’ hair. Because he could, Courfeyrac plaited the section of hair he still held. He fished a piece of ribbon from his pocket, gifted to him by a really quite impressively drunk Prouvaire a few days before, and tied it around the small braid with a  flourish, the orange fabric clashing quite hideously with the golden hair. Courfeyrac was just drunk enough himself to giggle at the effect rather than being offended on behalf of his aesthetic sensibilities and fashion itself.

He was also, apparently, drunk enough to forget that Enjolras was not the deepest of sleepers, and apparently audible laughter on top of the petting was enough to tip him from slumber to wakefulness. He stirred again, hair dimming despite Courfeyrac’s hold on it. Courfeyrac let go of the braid and sat back, still giggling slightly even as he prepared to explain himself.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked blearily.

“Are you aware that your hair lights up when stroked?” Courfeyrac asked cheerfully.

There was a long pause and then Enjolras asked, “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s quite remarkable,” Courfeyrac said. “Should you ever find yourself in need of funds you could easily charge natural scientists to study the phenomenon or join a circus and dazzle audiences.” He grinned. “Or you could continue providing our good Combeferre with a night light.”

Again there was a pause. Then, “I am not awake enough to have this conversation, I think. Come to bed and you can explain this to me properly in the morning.”

Courfeyrac’s grin widened. “As you wish,” he said, rising.

It was the work of a few minutes to change from his day clothes to the nightshirt he kept in Enjolras’ bedroom and to slip into bed next to his friend. Enjolras had already fallen back asleep, clearly still feeling the effects of the cumulative exhaustion that Combeferre spent so much time warning against. Courfeyrac smiled fondly at his friend and, because he could, reached out and took a small piece of hair in his hands, smile growing as a dim glow once more filled the room.


End file.
